


Your life and Mine

by Silvermoonphantom (Daitoshi)



Series: Raindrops [3]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, M/M, Mortality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-05
Updated: 2012-08-05
Packaged: 2017-11-11 12:40:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/478650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daitoshi/pseuds/Silvermoonphantom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was only a feeling, that sour dread. It made me curious, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your life and Mine

It began on a Sunday. The sun was barely rising, splashing cold light across Germany's house. Like any other day of the week, Prussia was sprawled across the couch, having not bothered to walk downstairs after his late-night movie had finished. Candy wrappers were haphazardly piled on the pale carpet, barely covering a small stain that had stubbornly refused to lift, even after an hour's worth of scrubbing and cursing. The pale-haired German had a one leg covered in a pillow, while his other leg was dangling off the side, bare toes brushing the soft carpeting.

As the sun slowly drew higher into the sky, light spilled across his peaceful face, eliciting a soft groan. An arm was casually flung over his face, shoulder straining slightly as it was settled over his closed eyes.

Drifting into awareness, the German man slowly drew his arm back down, sliding it to rest on his belly and carelessly tug his shirt back down over his chilled stomach. He opened his eyes, blinking away the grit and tilting slightly away from the sunlit windows.

Something was... off.

He laid there for a moment, crimson eyes staring up at the smooth, pale yellow ceiling. His mind was mostly empty, floating with a few stray comments about the strange feeling curling up from the pit of his stomach and grasping faintly in his chest.  
Ruffling his colorless hair into submission, he pulled himself upright on the tan leather couch and pulled a face as he failed to smother a yawn.

Something was definitely weird.

The strange feeling did not leave as he pushed himself to his feet and padded toward the kitchen for a glass of water. The tap was loud enough against the house's oppressive silence that he nearly jumped, despite turning the handle himself. A quick chug and a mental note to brush his teeth, he strode toward the stairwell to Germany's basement, and his own rooms.

The feeling in his chest grew tighter as he slid down the stairs, nervousness adding a certain jerkiness to his movements. He carefully peeked into the storage room, boxes of historic items, notes and uniforms sitting untouched.

Running slim fingers along the wall as he approached his room, he noted that a faint light poured between the frame and cracked open door. He had probably left his laptop open last night.

He pushed the door open with the side of his foot, reaching around for the light switch.  
Yellow light blanketed his room, and indeed his laptop was still on his desk, his blog open and the instant message box flashing with new posts.

Despite the normality of it all, the feeling of unease did not decrease. He quietly walked into the room, eyes sharp and checking all shadows. His bedding was still lumped at the foot of his bed, bedsheets twisted and thrown to the side. Making his way to the other side of the room, he jumped when he noticed a small shape in the corner, mentally preparing for a mouse or lost squirrel.

After standing frozen and staring at the corner, his mind registered the familiar color, and he bent down with a hissing laugh ready to spill from his lips. The laugh died in his throat as he kneeled down, shoulders stiffening and his crimson eyes wide.

His chick. His wonderful, talented, beautiful little bird. It laid quietly on the carpet, feathers limp and tiny legs stretched out beside it. The wings were firmly pressed against its sides, thin down covering around its neck splitting apart strangely and revealing a sliver of pale skin. He could not remember ever seeing skin on the bird before. It had always been a big ball of fluff.  
The neck was arched back in an unnatural way. One black eye was halfway closed, the milky third-lid partially slid up. The neck was broken.

The feeling in his stomach gave a painful lurch, threads around his heart squeezing as he exhaled sharply. He was intensely aware of the carpet shifting under his jeans as he reached forward and gently prodded the still figure. Even before touching the downy feathers, it had already hit him.  
There was no heat radiating from the body.

Under his touch, the entire form rocked, rigor mortis already having seized the muscles.  
His breath was stuttering as he exhaled again, catching as he tried to breath back in.  
Jaws clamped down as he rocked back on his heels, landing heavily on his rear and leaning against the side of his bed. He ignored the metal mattress stand digging into his spine as he threw his head back into the wild mess of blankets, eyes squeezing shut.

A soft, chocked sob shook his shoulders and his head fell forward again, brow pressing against knees. He wrapped one arm around his gut, the other pulling angrily at the fabric above his heart.

Damnit.

Why.  
What had he done to deserve this.  
His bird, who had been with him for centuries. His chick who had flown messages of importance, and notes of mocking. His clever little baby, who nested in his hair and drunken from his tankard, and had dodged rains of arrows and sprays of bullets.

DAMN IT ALL, WHY!

His fingers clamped down around one of the blankets, and he whipped around, letting out a hoarse yell as he ripped through the cloth, hurling the remains at his desk. Completely dissatisfied with the pitiful flop of cloth against the carpet, he whipped an arm around and punched the cement wall.

A sickening crack caused him to snarl, and the following spear of electric pain lanced up his arm and slammed into his skull. He felt lightheaded, and slumped to the ground, arm flopping beside him, bloodied knuckles curling slightly.

At least one of the bones in his hand was broken.  
The wall had a shallow, fist-sized dent, spidery cracks radiating from it.

He looked again at the body of his fallen friend, tears finally blurring his vision and spilling down his cheeks. His throat was closed up and his body began to shake with his sobs, temple leaning against the side of his bed.

Prussia could do nothing but sit quietly, wracked with despair, gaze locked on the prone body.  
Why had this happened?

What had caused this.

His bird...His Gilbird.

Gilbird was supposed to be immortal, like the nations were. He had been around ever since the albino's years as a knight for the Teutonic Order. What had changed?

Seven Hundred years, and only now showed mortality?

He curled tighter around himself, half-heartidly swiping the back of his wrist under his chin to wipe off salty tears. Sniffing hard and exhaling another wavering breath, he stood up and wobbled over to his desk. Sitting heavily in the cushioned, but still chilly cloth seat, he tapped out a short message to one of his friend. Pressing 'send', he swiveled sideways and slid back onto the carpeted floor and faced away from that corner.

"Please come over"

Without anything to lean against, the bed too far away, he simply tilted until falling to the floor.  
It seemed like only minutes later that he heard a door rattle and floorboards creak as someone entered the house. Prussia was only half awake when the hallway light flicked on, and long legs strode into his room.

"Prusia! ¿Está bien, que paso? "

The questions fired rapidly as Spain kneeled down beside him, already examining his broken hand. The throbbing pain had not stopped, but he barely noticed it over the tightness squeezing around his chest.

Bone-deep weariness had blanketed around his body, not budging as the Spaniard lifted his shirt to check for further injuries after he failed to respond to that inquiry.

"Can you sit up?"

His brain finally stuttered back into motion, and he gave a small nod.  
Despite that assurance, Spain still helped him upright, sliding beside him and let the albino lean against his shoulder.

"Will you tell me what happened?"

His eyes slid slowly to meet the dark chocolate orbs and he felt tears welling up again. He turned to bury his face in the tanned junction of neck and shoulder, feeling a pang of regret when his tears and snot dampened his friend's dark shirt.

"Hey, hey, It's alright"

Prussia felt an arm wrap around his shoulder and lifted head slightly so the shoulder could shift before laying it down again. Spain's fingers were combing through silver locks, the other hand rubbing his shoulder. He was aware of the soothing, nonsensical sounds cooed into his ear.  
"Cálmate , It's okay..."

He drew away, only his forehead resting on Spain's shoulder. His eyes were still closed, voice quiet.

"Da-Danke" His throat had caught, and the hand stilled on the top of his head.

"Would you like to tell me what happened?"

Prussia turned his head toward that corner and gestured with his good arm, letting it flop back at his side. It took a moment before he felt a sharp breath expand his friend's chest, the arm tightening around his shoulders.

"Oh Prusia. Lo siento mucho" It was barely whispered, his hair once again began stroking through his hair. On a normal day, he would have laughed about Spain's motherly way of dealing with things. He would have mocked his own weakness or denied that he was upset.  
That's how he dealt with the death of his bosses, after all.

But this...This was Gilbird. The chick had been with him longer than little Germany had. It was like losing a brother, despite the animal status. Grief was far too strong to bother with things like pride or appearance. The bird was too important to push aside like that.

His breath had finally calmed again, weariness pressing down heavily on all his movements. He was only barely aware of Spain twisting around and looping his arms under his legs. The only response to being hoisted up like an overlarge child was to curl his broken hand against his chest.

Spain POV

Though not at the ridiculously superhuman level that America possessed, most nations were still quite a bit stronger than normal humans. It was helpful Spain also regularly worked with his bull and his gardens. Carrying the slim man upstairs was not as difficult as one would imagine.

He had gotten the message just as he was looking for clothes after a shower, hearing the tone as he rummaged through his wardrobe. Looking back regretfully, he had gone to eat breakfast before checking his messages, and would have been here sooner had he not taken that kitchen detour.

It had been shocking to see the once-powerful nation on the floor like a broken doll, even more so when the man had begun crying on him. Spain did not really know what to do in that situation, since Romano had always responded in anger to whatever upset him. The position was fairly awkward, but he managed a half-hug and felt his own throat tightening in empathy with his friend's roiling emotions, despite having no idea what caused them.

He tried to smile and calm Prusia down, humming bits of songs under his breath, trying his hardest not to tangle and yank his friend's hair. When the German finally answered one of his questions, he did his best to listen. The vague gesture had, at first, led him to believe the man had simply punched the wall and hurt himself.

That did not make much sense, seeing as they had gotten into worse fights while drunk, and none of them cried over broken bones or nasty cuts at those times. Whining and moaning about it, sure, but nothing like this.

And then, he saw it.

He couldn't help but freeze and stare, brown eyes widening impossibly.

Horrible. Oh dear lord, how terrible. Prussia loved that bird, quite possibly more than he loved his friends. To have the little thing...

"I'm so sorry"

He hardly knew he was speaking, but brought his own head down to press against the other's.  
Soft breathing was the only sound in the room.

Making a quick decision, he asked aloud if the other nation wanted to go to sleep now or later.  
There was no response, he rightly assumed that the other man had already drifted off.

Glancing at the corner once more, he figured that Prusia would certainly not want to wake up to that scene, and lifted him up. His knees cracked in protest for strain after such a long time sitting on them.  
Spain stepped toward the room's doorway, hesitating and looking back. The bird was no longer visible, that corner hidden by Prussia's untidy bed. A heavy sigh poured into the air as he exited, leaving the light on.

It may just be a bird, but he still felt nervous about a nation-tied creature passing away. Even worse was the oppressive /feeling/ within that room.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could have sworn that he saw a flicker of movement. He firmly ignored it, electricity skittering up his spine as he ascended the staircase and emerged into the natural brightness of sunlight.

He did not fail to notice how much easier it was to breathe after he shut the basement door.


End file.
